In 1971, my family was asked to pose for a Thanksgiving photo in Ladies’ Home Journal, recreating my grandfather’s painting, Freedom From Want. We spent hours at a dining table in a local inn, staring at food we couldn’t eat. My mother later told me the food had been treated with something inedible to make it shine. We left hungry and tired. I was just two years old.
My mother, also a painter, often noted that there wasn’t much food in the original painting either. She explained it was a design trick, her tone both critical and admiring. The white tablecloth filling the bottom half of the frame draws attention to the smiling faces around the table. Aside from some celery, pickles, a few small aspics, and a pile of fruit in the foreground, the only food is the large turkey, which hasn’t even been placed on the table. Yet, for many, this scene—the perfect Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving—evokes a sense of abundance.
Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, painted in 1943, was part of his Four Freedoms series commissioned by The Saturday Evening Post. It illustrated Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s speech about core American principles that needed defending, aiming to convince the public of the necessity of entering World War II. Freedom From Want was meant to showcase America’s food abundance—the most tangible of the freedoms, alongside freedom of speech, freedom from fear, and freedom of worship.
Over time, the painting’s original propaganda purpose faded, and it has become a symbol of the ideal American Thanksgiving for both fans and critics. Memes based on the image spread every November, and I often receive several spoofs. People sometimes ask, half-jokingly or seriously, “Is this what your childhood was like?”
The painting has not only shaped the popular idea of a perfect Thanksgiving but is also often mistaken for a real documentary. Many assume it depicts Rockwell’s own family or how he celebrated the holiday. Once, I overheard a woman at the community center complaining about her Thanksgiving plans: “Every year, I prepare as if Norman Rockwell’s family is coming, but it’s just my own.” In reality, the painting features models, many of whom were photographed separately and only came together on the canvas.
That said, Thanksgiving at my grandfather’s house did share some similarities with the painting. We had all the traditional foods and used the proper chinaware. Ancestors, possibly from his wife’s side, stared down at us from heavy gold frames, dressed in black with stiff white collars like Puritans. The children had to sit quietly at the table until we couldn’t take it anymore, then we’d rush off to watch Godzilla or King Kong—which scared me—or a TV drama on a large faux-wood television. It was always a relief to come back for apple pie and vanilla ice cream and hear my grandfather’s witty sayings, like, “Over the teeth, through the gums, look out stomach, here it comes!”
Even with a perfect setting, people don’t always fit smoothly into it. My grandfather was an artist and a workaholic; while he may have enjoyed the holiday, his mind was often in the studio. He had a talent for portraying family togetherness in his paintings—heartwarming scenes of relatives that…He had photographed many unrelated neighbors and townspeople he’d seen around Arlington, Vermont. When I was young, he seemed distant.
Then there were my bohemian artist parents, who were like bomb-throwers even on their best days. Neither could resist challenging convention, always curious to uncover what lay beneath. While my father, as the son and heir, was permitted his quirks, my mother was a different story. With her limp from polio, paint-splattered jeans, and constant bare feet; her crooked teeth and Maryland accent; her blunt honesty and large, vibrant paintings, she must have seemed out of place at the family dinner table—even in the 1960s.
My parents felt overshadowed, even crushed, by my grandfather’s reputation and talent. To cope, they often talked about the difference between illustration and fine art. My father, now 94, still mentions it. My grandfather also saw this distinction as important and felt inferior as just an illustrator. He had high hopes for his eldest son, my father, to become a true fine artist, but my father’s work puzzled him.
One of my father’s drawings—a large piece in pen, ink, and watercolor on illustration board—hung framed above my grandfather’s fireplace. It depicted a dark, sepia-toned, semi-abstract post-industrial wasteland with a single white spotlight on one side. Night after night, over drinks, my grandfather would point to that spot, interrupt the conversation, and ask thoughtfully, “Jerry, what’s that white spot over there?” Over the years, my father gave countless answers; one stands out because he told it to my husband years later: “It’s the inside of the outside of the backside of beyond.”
My parents both firmly believed in the fine art versus illustration divide, placing themselves on the higher end. As a child, I understood it came down to two things. First, money: illustrators create art for pay, while fine artists are driven by necessity, not financial gain. Second, inspiration: since illustrators are paid, their inspiration comes from money or client prompts like holidays, products, or propaganda, which was seen as impure. Fine artists, however, draw inspiration from within or above, a fickle force that can vanish for years. This made being a fine artist—or just an artist, as my mother called it—a risky life financially, emotionally, and spiritually. But the reward was that it was considered superior.
When I was five, my parents divorced amicably. Soon after, my mother was abruptly excluded from The Perfect Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving. She hadn’t expected it, but of course, there was no place for exes at such a table. Honestly, she should have seen it coming. Later, she liked to recount a story from around 1966 when she and my father got engaged. My grandfather was looking for models to pose as young newlyweds for a commission, and my mother suggested they do it since they were about to be married. He dismissed the idea, saying they were all wrong for it. (I’ve never identified which painting it was or if he even made it, but I picture something like a 1960s version of his 1955 work, The Marriage License.)
Years later, I found a set of professional photos in my grandfather’s museum archive showing my newly engaged parents sitting with him. In them, they had clearly tried hard to look respectable for the camera.My father’s hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a neat polo shirt. My mother has on a modest, tailored sundress in light blue with tiny white flowers. She always sewed her own clothes, usually in bold colors and patterns, but this one seems like a special outfit for her part as the bride. Yet their faces betray them—they’re laughing and smirking playfully while my grandfather watches with mild irritation.
This scene comes from my parents’ engagement photo, with my grandfather Norman Rockwell at the center.
During that first year of what we called The Banishment, my father coldly informed my mother over the phone that she wasn’t welcome at Thanksgiving and told her to drop me off at my grandfather’s house before dinner. She never grasped boundaries and couldn’t understand why our traditions had to change because of a divorce. She drove me through an early snow, crying the entire way.
In the end, my mother’s perspective won out. After my grandfather passed away in 1978, she created a Christmas tradition without limits—a distorted reflection of the perfect Rockwell Thanksgiving. Tired of juggling schedules from a growing number of divorced couples and their kids, she invited everyone to celebrate “Ex-mas.” The guest list included her new husband; my father and his new wife; her two children from a previous marriage; her ex-husband and his girlfriend; and her two children from another prior relationship. The father of those last two couldn’t make it—rumor had it he was in a Spanish prison for drug trafficking. My stepfather, a set designer, took countless formal family photos of every possible group combination, using vintage props like hats, canes, and feather boas. One year, everyone joined hands and danced around the house singing carols.
I often think about telling the woman I once overheard lamenting that her family didn’t measure up to a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving about our unconventional celebration. Maybe it would have comforted her to know that the Rockwell family was just as messy and burdened by typical family issues as anyone else. Freedom From Want, a painting meant to highlight abundance, has instead become a symbol of what we’re missing—an impossible standard of harmony and unity. The truth is, it was never real to begin with.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about The Nostalgic Dream of a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving designed to be clear helpful and conversational
General Beginner Questions
1 What is The Nostalgic Dream of a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving
Its the idealized image of a perfect harmonious and familycentered Thanksgiving popularized by the American artist Norman Rockwell in his famous 1943 painting Freedom from Want
2 What painting are people talking about
Theyre referring to Rockwells Freedom from Want which shows a large happy family gathered around a dining table as a grandmother places a giant roasted turkey on the table
3 Why is this image so famous and enduring
It represents a comforting ideal of family unity abundance and peace especially during the uncertainty of World War II It became the blueprint for the perfect American holiday in many peoples minds
4 Did Norman Rockwells own Thanksgiving look like his painting
No not really Rockwell used models and staged the scene in his studio It was an artistic ideal not a documentary of his personal life
Deeper Meaning Cultural Impact
5 Whats the problem with trying to recreate this dream Thanksgiving
It sets an impossibly high standard Real life involves family disagreements cooking disasters and stress Chasing this perfect image can make people feel inadequate or disappointed when their own celebration doesnt match up
6 What values does the Rockwell Thanksgiving represent
It emphasizes themes like togetherness gratitude generosity simplicity and national unityvalues that many people still aspire to during the holidays
7 How has this image shaped how we celebrate Thanksgiving today
It heavily influenced our traditions from the central role of the roasted turkey and the large family gathering to the desire for a pictureperfect table setting Its the model against which many people unconsciously measure their own holidays
Practical Tips Modern Application
8 How can I incorporate the spirit of the painting without the pressure
Focus on the core feelings not the perfect picture Prioritize genuine connection expressing gratitude and enjoying the company of your loved ones even if the turkey is a little dry or the table is messy